


Temporary Fix

by magicathstewart (avidfangirllife)



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow series - Gemma T. Leslie
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boys Kissing, Drunk Simon, Enemies With Benefits, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Lovers, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, drunk baz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 08:56:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5242340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avidfangirllife/pseuds/magicathstewart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An anon on tumblr asked: "Hey. Hey you. Enemies with benefits au in which snowbaz kiss and more and such but still think they hate each other and fight all the time Will you do it?"</p><p>Obviously I couldn't resist putting this one in its own special work because, well, I do what I want.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Temporary Fix

**Author's Note:**

> I really enjoyed writing this one! I hope you like it!
> 
> Title from the One Direction song because as we have already established, I am, in fact 1d af.

Simon storms through the door, kicking it closed behind him. He throws his bag at his desk where it crashes loudly into the chair, sending it spinning, before falling to the floor, books spilling out everywhere. With a grunt of frustration, Simon throws himself onto his bed and covers his face with a pillow.

 

“Are you going to pick those up?”

 

Simon hears the voice through the pillow, as Baz had surely intended. He removes the barrier from his face and glares at the boy sitting on the bed across the room, back against the wall. Of course Baz has something to say. Baz always has something to say. The twit.

 

Instead of answering, Simon stands back up and walks over to his roommate’s desk. He opens the top drawer where Baz keeps his own notebooks, pulls out the stack of them, and throws them on the floor as well. Once he’s satisfied with the new mess he’s made, he looks back up at Baz, holding the boy’s stare.

 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Baz asks, clearly irritated.

 

“Are you going to pick those up?” Simon echoes Baz’s question, gesturing to the new pile of books lying on the floor.

 

Simon knows he’s acting extremely immature but he can’t help himself. His day thus far involved taking two midterm exams and receiving back a paper with a grade he’s not entirely thrilled with. His brain is fried and Baz is asking for trouble. Well, Baz is always asking for trouble, but today Simon doesn’t have the strength or energy to maintain a sensible level of maturity.

 

“I didn’t throw them there.” Baz shifts to stand at the edge of the bed, closer to where Simon is still standing at the boy’s desk.

 

“What’s your point?” Simon throws back, taking a step closer towards Baz’s bed.

 

“What’s your problem, Snow? You’re acting like a twelve year old.”

 

“What’s your point?” Simon repeats, because he _is_ acting like a twelve year old and he really doesn’t care.

 

He takes a step closer to the bed so he’s nearly nose to nose with Baz. Or nose to forehead in their case; Baz is slightly taller than he is. Baz tries to take a step back and is stopped by the bed the boy is still standing at the edge of. Simon smirks and turns to return to his own bed, but is stopped by a hand on his wrist.

 

“Let go of me!” Simon says, trying to pull his arm out of Baz’s grip. Baz holds it tighter. Simon hates that Baz is stronger than he is. Baz is better than him at just about everything; it’s not fair that the boy is stronger than him, too.

 

“Pick up your shit. And my shit. And while you’re at it, why don’t you get rid of whatever shit is making you act like a git.” Baz says, finally dropping Simon’s hand, still holding his eyes.

 

Simon’s gaze drops to Baz’s lips for a moment then flickers back up to the boy’s eyes just in time to see Baz’s do the same.

 

Then suddenly they’re kissing. Simon doesn’t know how or why it is happening, but his lips are moving against Baz’s. The kiss is urgent and messy, Simon forcing Baz’s lips apart so he can slide his tongue in. His hands move up to grip either side of Baz’s face, pulling the by closer still. Their teeth are clashing, but Simon doesn’t back off. He manages to push Baz back against the bed, only allowing the kiss to break for long enough to get the boy lying underneath him. Then his mouth is on the skin at the base of Baz’s neck and he is trailing long, slow kisses up towards the boy’s jaw and back over to the corner of the boy’s mouth.

 

This time when their lips meet, the urgency is gone. Their mouths are hot against each other. Simon uses his teeth to pull gently at Baz’s lower lip before sucking at the skin to soothe it.

 

When Simon finally pulls back, they’re both gasping for breath. He doesn’t look at the boy lying underneath him.

 

Simon climb’s off his roommate and off his roommate’s bed, grabs his towel off the hook by the door, and walks out.

 

* * *

They don’t talk about it. Ever.

 

Baz isn’t actually sure how it happened in the first place. He’s pretty sure Simon is interested in the pretty blonde that always hangs around their dorm. Agatha. The two have definitely hooked up a few times, Baz thinks. He doesn’t think it’s anything exclusive, though. Not that he would know for sure.

 

If he closes his eyes and lays back on his bed in the dark, he can feel the ghost of Simon’s lips on his neck, his jaw, his own. So he does. He’s still not sure he didn’t dream the whole thing.

 

It will probably never happen again, so Baz is going to enjoy what he can. Snow still hates him, and as far as anyone else knows, Baz hates Snow right back.

 

* * *

 

 

“Did you really have to follow me to the party, Baz? Don’t you have a life of your own?” Snow asks upon returning to the dorm room shortly after Baz had arrived there himself.

 

It’s been almost two weeks since Snow kissed Baz. Or Baz kissed Snow. Baz still hasn’t figured out which one of them started it. It had to be Snow. Baz wouldn’t be that reckless. Okay, he would be that reckless - but not with Snow. Never with Snow.

 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Snow. Niall invited me. His girlfriend is in the same sorority as your girlfriend.” He knows Agatha isn’t actually Snow’s girlfriend. Still. But he knows it bugs the boy when he calls her that, so he keeps doing it.

 

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Snow replies, predictable as ever.

 

“You’re extra irritable when you’ve got a few drinks in you, aren’t you, Snow?” Baz says with a smile. He may not be entirely sober either.

 

“Shut up and go to sleep.”

 

Baz is lying back on his mattress, arms crossed behind his head, staring at the ceiling. “I’m not tired,” he says. He doesn’t know _why_ he says it. Not that it isn’t true. It is. Under five drinks, Baz is wired. It isn’t until after the fifth that he can pass out with ease.

 

“How many drinks did you have?” Snow asks, as if the boy knew exactly what Baz was thinking.

 

“Only three,” Baz answers because apparently three drinks not only keep him awake, but make him say things he normally wouldn’t.

 

The room is silent for a minute before Snow speaks again. The voice is closer to Baz when he hears it again. “I’m not tired either.”

 

Baz turns his head and sees Snow standing at the edge of his bed. He somehow manages to control his breathing, though it takes a bit of effort. Snow starts to climb up onto Baz’s mattress without warning, and Baz shifts to make room for the boy so they can both sit with their backs against the wall.

 

Snow is sitting on Baz’s bed. Again. Even three-drink Baz isn’t going to ask why this is happening and ruin it for himself.

 

“Agatha and I are just friends. We made out, like, twice, but that’s it,” Simon says, though Baz doesn’t know why the boy bothers.

 

When he asks, Simon responds, “Because you keep calling her my girlfriend and you don’t seem to listen when I tell you she’s not.”

 

“And why do you think I care?” Baz asks, because he’s Baz. It’s what he would normally say in this situation, if Snow wasn’t _in his bed with him_. But Snow cannot know that Baz is actually affected by the boy’s proximity.

 

Snow shrugs which would suffice as a response as far as Baz is concerned, but then adds, “I care.”

 

“Why are you in my bed, Snow?” Apparently Baz isn’t as in control of his three-drink self as he’d like to be.

 

“I thought you weren’t tired.”

 

“I’m not,” Baz whispers, all the air escaping his lungs.

 

“Neither am I.”

 

And then Snow kisses him.

 

* * *

 

 

Baz is pulling a shirt on when Snow and Agatha walk in the room.

 

“Penelope is waiting for us, Simon. Hurry up,” Agatha says and then notices Baz is standing there with a shirt pulled on only halfway down his chest. “Oh, hey Baz!” She continues, walking over to press a kiss to Baz’s cheek. Baz watches Simon’s eyes narrow at the affectionate greeting.

 

“I’m ready. Let’s go,” Snow says, apparently having decided to take an extra shirt with him rather than changing it in the room.

 

“There’s another party at the house this Saturday, Baz! You should come again!” Agatha manages to get out before Snow tugs her through the doorframe.

 

 

“Your cousin is such a twit. Worse than you.” Simon is fed up with, well, everything.

 

This semester is kicking his ass and on top of that his roommate still consistently gets on his last nerve. Except when they’re doing, well, whatever it is that they’re doing. Simon doesn’t know exactly what is happening. He’s pretty sure they still hate each other. They still fight all the time. The only difference is, now about fifty percent of those fights end with the two pressed against one another, fighting with their lips rather than their words.

 

“I could have told you that. The real question here is whether he’s worse than you,” Baz calls without looking up. Baz is bent over a book at his desk. _Simon’s_ desk.

 

“I was wrong. He’s definitely not worse than you,” Simon decides, walking over to sit on his bed. “Why are you sitting at my desk?”

 

Baz’s head turns to look at Simon long enough to say, “It was closer to the door. Also, it spins.” As if to prove a point, Baz pushes back from the desk far enough to spin around in the chair. Simon kicks his foot out to stop the chair, mid-spin, leaving the boys facing one another.

 

Simon leans forward. “Get out of my chair, Baz,” he warns, stress and frustration from the day clear in his voice.

 

“Make me.” Baz holds his ground, eyes on fire.

 

That’s all it takes for Simon to jump off the edge of his bed. He lands in Baz’s lap and crashes their lips together. The weight of everything Simon had been feeling only moments earlier disappears as soon as their lips meet.

 

Stress relief; that’s what this is for Simon. When he’s kissing Baz, he doesn’t feel as heavy. He feels weightless.

 

“I can’t move if you’re on top of me,” Baz mumbles into his mouth.

 

Simon responds by biting Baz’s lip and tugging at the hem of the boy’s shirt. They break apart long enough for him to pull it up over Baz’s head and then he trails kisses down the side of the boy’s neck. When he reaches the base, Baz lets out a low groan and Simon feels the boy hardening beneath him. Simon smile’s into Baz’s neck and begins to work his way further down.

 

Simon slides back off Baz’s lap, slowly continuing to work his way down. Once he’s kneeling on the floor, he pauses to look up at Baz, asking permission to keep going. He takes in Baz’s blown pupils and sharp nod. A moment later, the boy’s trousers are being unbuttoned and wiggled down, followed closely after by the boxer briefs underneath.

 

Simon doesn’t waste any time taking Baz as completely as he can, mouth around the top, hand working the rest. Baz’s hips jerk up at erratic intervals, forcing more of himself into Simon. He takes it and continues to work, faster, sucking harder, until Baz’s hands find purchase pulling at his hair.

 

Baz lets out another moan, louder than the last, hands tightening in Simon’s hair.

“Simon, I’m close,” the boy warns, but Simon doesn’t pull back. When Baz comes undone, Simon takes it all.

 

Simon crawls back up into Baz’s lap, the boy’s arms wrapping around his waist as their lips meet once again. This kiss is different than the last, long and slow, full of a deeper want that either boy has experienced before.

 

Suddenly, Simon feels as if he is being lifted and then his mattress is underneath him. He doesn’t have time to think about how he got here or be annoyed at the strength of his roommate. Baz’s lips are still on him, the boy’s hands pulling his shirt off, sliding his pants down, taking away everything Simon is thinking and feeling until there is nothing left but Baz.

 

Once both boys are sated, Simon’s eyes droop. He feels Baz next to him, breaths evening out. They fall asleep like that, tangled up together in Simon’s sheets.

 

When Simon wakes the next morning, he’s alone. He looks over and finds his roommate in the bed across the room. He turns over and goes back to sleep. When he wakes up again, the room is empty.

 

* * *

 

 

“Simon, we always go to Baz’s football matches. Why not today?” Penelope asks from her desk chair. “And don’t tell me it’s because you can’t stand him. You’ve never liked him and we’ve always gone anyway.”

 

Simon is laying on Penelope’s bed, trying not to think about what happened the night before and what it meant. The truth is, maybe it did mean something. At least to him. But they’re not a couple, so going to Baz’s match after last night doesn’t _feel_ right to him. Matches without sex is one thing, but matches after sex feels too much like something a boyfriend would do - even if it was just oral. And Simon isn’t Baz’s boyfriend.

 

“I just don’t feel like it today, Pen.”

 

Penelope must hear something finalizing in Simon’s tone, because she drops the subject and picks up the textbook on her desk instead.

 

“Okay, where were we?” she asks, opening the textbook back up to where they had left off studying.

 

* * *

 

 

When Baz gets back from his football match, he’s hoping the room will be empty so he can watch Netflix on his laptop and maybe take a nap. So, of course when he opens the door Snow is already there. _Great_.

 

“Did you win?” Snow is sitting in bed watching Netflix.

 

“What’s it to you?” The thing is, Snow should know whether or not he won. Snow has been at every game since football season started. He would never admit it, but Baz was comforted by Snow’s presence at his matches. He liked _knowing_ Snow was watching him, even if the boys didn’t get along.

 

He’s also still not quite willing to admit how much last night means to him. Because to Snow it was probably nothing. So when he woke up in Snow’s arms, he disentangled himself carefully and crawled under his own sheets. Save the boy the awkward moment of having to wake up with him. Snow doesn’t feel the same way Baz does. He can’t.

 

The boys settle into silence, each on their own bed. Snow has returned back to watching Netflix and Baz is content lying in bed stealing glances at the boy across the room.

 

* * *

 

 

The silence is too much for Simon. Even the show playing in front of him isn’t diluting it enough. He can’t stop thinking about the night before. Something changed. He could feel something different in the way Baz kissed him. Having the other boy in the room is making his head spin. He feels like he’s going to explode.

 

“Why did you leave?” Simon whispers, pausing his Netflix marathon.

 

“I didn’t think you’d want me to say,” Baz admits quietly. Simon is surprised at the clear honesty. Something new from his roommate.

 

“It’s just-” Baz continues, sitting up, “I didn’t think this meant anything to you and maybe it doesn’t mean nothing to me.” The boy’s head is still down, unable to face Simon.

 

“What if-” Simon had never considered that maybe Baz was feeling the same way. Maybe, whatever this is, isn’t one sided at all. Simon is still confused, but what if they can figure it out together? “What if it doesn’t mean nothing to me, either?”

 

“That’s a lot of double negatives, Snow. What are you trying to say?”

 

“It was only one double negative, Baz, and you know what I’m trying to say,” Simon says, standing to move across the room. He sits on his roommate’s bed, leaving no space between himself and the boy next to him.

 

“Simon. I need you to say it or I’ll think I’m crazy,” Baz whispers, still unable to look at Simon.

 

“This means something to me, Baz.” Simon places his finger under Baz’s chin, turning the boy’s face towards him. “Whatever this is. It means something.”

 

Baz leans forward, lips pressing softly against Simon’s for a moment. Unsatisfied with the kiss, Simon leans into it as Baz tries to pull away, allowing the kiss to linger. It is short and sweet, unlike their previous kisses. Neither of them is thinking forward. They’re absorbing the sweetness of the moment that they’re in.

 

Baz pulls back the rest of the way, locking eyes with Simon. “You mean something to me, too, Simon.”

  
Simon leans forward to press his lips against Baz’s once again.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it!!! Let me know what you think here or come talk to me on [tumblr](http://magicathstewart.tumblr.com) ❤


End file.
